Page 45 of Just One Little Bargain

“You just bought me a gift.”

“Stop looking at me like that. It’s ten-dollar honey, not a kidney.”

I know that. And yet I can’t stop staring at the jar because, for the first time in my existence, someone bought me something.

Evie grabs my sleeve and tugs me toward the bread section. She lets go after a few steps, but I can still feel where her fingers gripped the fabric. By all logic, the tether should be indifferent to everything except distance and contractual obligation. Instead, it purrs. I’m choosing to ignore this development.

“We’re here for supplies.” She presses her fingertips against her temple. “I have a list and a schedule. I don’t have time for distractions.”

“In my defense,” I say, leaning the basket against my hip, “that honey was a spiritual experience. I think I glimpsed God. Which is complicated, theologically, given my situation.”

She stares at me. “Right . . . Because you’re a demon. Funny.”

“I’ll be faster,” I say, instead of all the other things crowding behind my teeth.

“You’ll be quiet.”

“That too.”

***

The gravel lot behind the market holds a handful of cars and one truck with a cracked tailgate. The air is still, and the only sounds are the distant hum of a tractor and the rustle of wind through the nearby trees. Nobody else is around.

Evie pops the trunk of a faded blue hatchback and starts loading bags. I hand them to her one at a time, matching her pace.

“Thank you for your help.” Her words are curt as she shuts the trunk lid with a decisive thud.

“I need to talk to you about the whole bargain thing.”

Whatever ease we found in the market disappears. Evie shuts down so fast I regret opening my mouth.

“We were having a normal afternoon, Milo.”

“I know.”

“A nice, normal morning, where you helped carry bags and didn’t say anything unhinged.”

“I appreciate that, but—”

“No.” She turns, keys clenched in her fist. “We’re done with this. I told you in the café, and I’m telling you again. Drop it.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I truly am a demon.”

Her laugh lacks humor. “That’s not the truth. It’s a fantasy.”

“What if I could prove it?”

“Okay. Prove it, then.” She leans against the car, chin tilted up defiantly. “You have thirty seconds.”

I reach for my mortal form, loosening my hold on it.

“What are you doing?” Evie’s watching me, forehead creased. “Why do you look constipated?”

“I’m concentrating.”